


Side Effects of Death

by orphan_account



Series: Post-Mortem Life [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Like A Lot Later, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Multi, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, but there's a sequel coming don't worry, major character death much later in the book
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24010225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Harry had died, yet somehow come back.This he knew, so really he shouldn't be surprised when Death takes an interest in him, one that could potentially ruin his life, or what version of it he now had.Or, life after death.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Post-Mortem Life [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731652
Comments: 8
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [tell me whether he is dead](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9191315) by [LullabyKnell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LullabyKnell/pseuds/LullabyKnell). 



> Man, I really have a problem with not updating other fanfics. However, I actually have an outline for this one so hopefully I won't abandon it because I really loved this idea.  
> Disclaimer: If I were JK Rowling, this would be a Twitter thread, not on ao3. Hence, I do not own these characters.

_ “That wand’s more trouble than it’s worth,” said Harry.”And quite honestly,” he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower, and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, “I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.”  _ _ -Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows _

Harry woke up, sun streaming through the windows of Gryffindor Tower. The dormitory was understandably trashed, but most of the beds were fairly intact despite the missing chunks of wall, and as far as Harry was concerned, that was all that mattered. He reached for his glasses that laid on a barely-standing nightstand, and the room was brought into focus.  _ Now that the war’s over,  _ he thought,  _ maybe I can do something about my eyesight finally. _ With all that had happened in his life since coming to Hogwarts when he was eleven, he hadn’t had any time to worry about something like fixing his vision, especially not when the Dursleys would refuse to get him a new pair of glasses.  _ I wonder if an overpowered reparo to the eye would do the trick... _

Standing up, he thought about what to do. The war had ended with the first rays of the morning sun, and judging by his slight headache from grogginess and the barely tinted yellow rays of light, it was likely around lunchtime. He straightened out his clothes, casting a charm to iron them for him. It wasn’t perfect, but it would suffice for now. 

The common room looked different, now. It hadn’t changed physically, per se, but the energy was different. Before the war, the common room had been a place of happiness, friendship, and comfort. Today, it seemed like the room somehow knew that it had lost many people that it had once sheltered. Fred, the four Marauders, Colin Creevey, Dumbledore, and countless others. The place felt downcast; the fire that always burned brightly in the fireplaces extinguished, not to ignore the missing bits of wall and blackened tapestries. Harry hoped they could fix it while the castle would inevitably be reconstructed that summer. 

Deciding that he had delayed long enough, Harry threw on the invisibility cloak and ran down the hallways until he made it to the Great Hall. He scanned the room for Ron and Hermione, purposely ignoring the places where corpses had previously lay not many hours ago. He felt very grateful for the people helping sort out who was who, and deal with them accordingly.

Ron and Hermione had been among the people helping round up bodies and getting those who needed treatment to the hospital. Now that it was later in the day, most of that had been taken care of. In all honesty, Harry had felt a bit like an outsider watching the activity. A strange sort of detachment overtook him as he stared out at the broken castle and the remaining few who were still helping clean up what they could. He briefly regretted his decision to come back down, but the need to talk to his friends without the pressure of imminent death was too great to resist. 

The amount of people in the Great Hall had diminished greatly, and some students scattered around were working on fixing walls, pillars, and other destroyed parts of the great castle. Harry walked over to his friends and proceeded to yank the cloak off of him, shocking his friends.

“Harry! Could you not be bothered to walk up to us like a normal person?!” 

He smiled apologetically at Hermione. “Sorry.”

Turning to Ron, he said “I’m glad some things haven’t changed.”

Ron laughed a bit at that. “Where did you go? Everyone was looking for you. You’re lucky to have us Harry, when I say everyone, I mean  _ everyone.”  _

Harry grimaced. “Sorry, mate. I was in Gryffindor Tower, trying to get some rest. Can you blame me for being exhausted?”

Ron grumbled. “I suppose not.”

Harry patted him on the shoulder, laughing. “What’s going on right now? I see you two are being very helpful. You can take a break too, you know. Merlin knows you deserve just as much as me.”

Hermione answered this time. “We just felt, well, a bit responsible for a lot of the destruction and loss. What’s a bit of extra effort among all of this? It makes a difference, and it’s not like we haven’t been working nonstop for the past half a year, anyway.” 

Harry nodded. “Well, it’s good that you are all up and about. I nearly fell asleep just walking up the stairs.”

They all chuckled. “Anyway, sorry to go, but I have to talk to McGonagall soon about this summer. I have no clue what to do now that this is, well, over.” 

“Good luck with that mate.” Smiling, Harry brought the two in for a hug. The fact that the war had ended was a fact their brains had yet to fully absorb.

Upon touching Harry, Hermione and Ron flinched a little. Noticing, Harry said “Did something happen?”

Hermione spoke up, a look of apprehension on her face. “Harry, you feel really cold. Do you need a proper sweater, or a warming charm?”

Harry frowned, looking at his jacket, t-shirt, and jeans, not noticing that anything was wrong. “I don’t  _ feel _ cold. If anything, I’m sweaty from running down here so fast.” 

Ron chimed in this time. “Mate, you’re, like,  _ really  _ cold. Did you get hit with some spell or something?”

“I don’t think so. I feel perfectly fine.” 

That was somewhat a lie, obviously, he had just  _ died _ after all, but he didn’t want to press the matter further, especially not right now. In the corner of his eye, he saw some of the others whispering and occasionally glancing at him. Before he could be bothered by them, he waved goodbye to his friends before retossing on the cloak and hiking it out of the Great Hall.

He found McGonagall in the headmaster’s office. She was very clearly curious about how he had played dead, convincing even Voldemort, but hadn’t asked about it. 

“I’m just glad you three are safe, and that the war is over for good this time.” she had said. Harry gave her a hug before leaving, noticing the look of confusion on McGonagall’s face but didn’t say anything, fearing the response and the unsettling feeling growing in his stomach.

By later that afternoon, Harry found himself back in his old dormitory. He walked over to the bathroom, deciding it would be good to actually wash off the days of grime, blood, and Merlin knows what else coating his skin and clothes. He was suddenly grateful, possibly for the first time in his life, for some of Dudley’s old clothes that he had left in the wardrobe at the end of sixth year. Grabbing them and walking over to the bathroom, he started upon noticing his reflection. 

Standing rimrod still for a second, Harry observed his reflection in the mirror that he knew should have worked fine. To his knowledge, it wasn’t enchanted with anything. But either way, staring back at him was not his usual reflection.

The person staring back at him was not like that of a normal appearance. 

Staring back at him was a nearly transparent version of Harry Potter, one he could just about see right through to the back wall of the bathroom.

Not only that, but the him in the mirror looked, well, dead. His skin was paler, and his eyes more sunken.

_ Okay,  _ he thought.  _ I would say weirder things have happened to me but I think this just about takes the cake.  _ Turning away from the mirror, he got into the shower and tried his best to rid himself of the still growing unsettling feeling in his stomach. Harry wondered if he would ever have at least a semi-normal life. 

Seems he was never destined for that. 


	2. Chapter Two

While Harry got dressed, he wondered what was happening to him. First, his friends had told him that he was practically freezing, and his reflection seemed like something out of some muggle vampire novel. His thoughts raced, trying to find an explanation for what was going on. 

Though of course, the answer was obvious.

He had died, and come back.

Harry knew that he had walked into that forest the previous night prepared to die. Heck, he had even talked with his dead family. He had accepted death, faced it.

And still he had come back.

Harry laughed slightly to himself, wondering if people were about to start calling him “The Boy Who Lived Twice”. After all, it was only a matter of time before The Daily Prophet started printing out articles about his heroic sacrifice and whatnot. 

He tucked his wand as well as Malfoy’s wand into the new jacket before tossing his older clothes onto a wooden chair by his bed, but started upon hearing a dull thunk. Eyebrows furrowed, he picked up his clothes, wondering what had made the sound. He searched the pockets of his jacket, searching for a rock or something. 

Instead, his hand found a glass-like object in one of the front pockets. With a sinking feeling, Harry pulled it out.

It was the Resurrection Stone.

_ How in Merlin’s name did he have it?  _ Harry could distinctly recall dropping it on the forest floor. Worried and disconcerted, Harry put it back in the pocket, not wanting to think about it any longer. It was then that he noticed something sticking out of his trousers’ pocket.

The Elder Wand.

_ What the actual buggering heck? _

He had given it back to Dumbledore in his tomb, not wanting to deal with the inevitable trouble that came with it. Even more alarmed, Harry shoved the items back into an inner pocket on the jacket, concerned with what was happening- though he resolved not to tell his friends about it. Not yet. 

He left the common room, not noticing the torches on the walls of the corridors that flickered in and out as he walked past. He made his way to the kitchens for some food, though he had no idea if the house elves were still there, or if they would even be willing to provide food. He tickled the pear on the portrait, and stepped inside.

Sitting at one of the small tables was none other than Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom, who each had a hand clasped together over the table. They turned to see who it was, and their eyebrows shot up at the sight of none other than Harry Potter. “Harry!” They both exclaimed. The two ran over to Harry, Neville and Luna taking turns giving him a hug. Neither commented on Harry’s temperature, but Harry could see the unspoken question on their faces nonetheless- Luna especially, who was observing not him, but rather the air around him.

“You disappeared, mate. Where to?” Neville inquired.

“I needed a nap.”

“Fair enough.”

Harry nodded gratefully. “Thanks for taking out the snake,” Harry complimented.

“Oh of course, that was nothing. You however, you died! How? Guess you really are the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice.” 

Harry sighed, accepting the nickname. “Believe it or not, someone lied to Voldemort’s face about me being dead.”

“Who?”

“Narcissa Malfoy.”

“No way!” Neville exclaimed. Luna simply looked curiously at Harry. 

“Yeah. Asked if Malfoy- her son, I mean, was still alive. No idea how she knew, but I owe her now.”

“That’ll be rough.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t seen any of the Malfoys since, you know, I “came back.” 

The other two nodded in agreement.

“Anyway, don’t think I didn’t see you two holding hands. Neville, I assume you succeeded?”

The boy in question smiled bashfully, grasping ahold of Luna’s hand again. Harry smiled, glad his friends worked that out.

He was then reminded of Ginny, whom he had barely thought about since the battle had ended. He supposed he should seek her out, reconcile. But another part of him wanted to delay that meeting. After all, being on the run for so long had given him time to think. Time to evaluate how he felt about her, and if he wanted to get back together after the war, assuming that they would win, after all. 

But now? He had come to terms with many things recently. His own death. The death of so many of his friends, adults that he had come to trust. How his father had also married a redhead. 

And honestly, a relationship was the last thing on his mind. 

He shook his head, focusing on the present. “Let’s sit down. I know I’m tired of standing.” They laughed, slightly wearily, before heading back to the table. They made small talk, as much as one could so soon after a war. They discussed Hogwarts over the last year, and plans for the future- however it was mainly Neville and Luna that talked about that. Harry really didn’t have anything to say for it, after all. 

Eventually, Harry realized he should go and leave the two alone. He stood up, said goodbye, and tried to ignore the pang in his heart when Neville flinched minorly at his handshake. Breath rattling, he turned, and left.

Harry walked aimlessly through the halls, watching the portraits smile at him, while others looked at him almost angry. A part of Harry smiled at the reminder of better days from the years before. He tried to ignore the places where corpses had laid not a day ago, but upon turning into a more open hallway which held the defense classroom, he nearly tripped over his own feet. He rubbed at his eyes, unable to tell if this was a hallucination or not, because in front of him stood the blue figures of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, frozen in a moment of time. Their hands were reached out toward each other as they stood facing the open archways, wands out to defend themselves. 

Harry stumbled back in shock, tripping over himself and falling to the floor. He stared at the apparitions, asking silently why he was being shown this image. Was this some sort of joke? How, and why would someone do this? How was it even possible?

With a sinking realization, he became acutely aware of the stone still in his pocket. He grabbed it, and realized it was almost… pulsing, albeit faintly. He stared at it, wondering if there was more to the stone than he had thought. As he pocketed it, the apparitions of his deceased friends faded, leaving the hallway empty once more. 

He pulled out the hallow once more, not turning it, but instead kneeling and setting it out next to the other two hallows, the wand, and the cloak. He sighed deeply, wondering if there was much more truth to the story of the brothers than any of he and his friends had thought. Was this what Dumbledore had spent his whole life chasing? He felt almost underwhelmed. 

Feeling ridiculous, he recalled what he knew of the story Hermione had read back at the Lovegood’s. He remembered that the brothers had met Death itself, or rather, a personification of it. Or even some sort of reaper, he supposed. 

An idea pulled at his mind. He recalled something about uniting the hallows and becoming the master of death.  _ But what did that mean? _ he mused.

He had an idea of something to try, but he almost didn’t want to. Yet somehow, as he stared at the objects in front of him, the idea seemed to fit. Seemed  _ right _ , in some twisted sense.

Grimacing, he opened his mouth to say, “Uh, Death? You there? Or a reaper thing…”

He trailed off as just past the objects, the shadows around him seemed to gather before rising as one before stopping suddenly. The temperature dropped several degrees around the gathering of shadows, and Harry watched, entranced, as the shadows formed into a being of sorts, the shadows around the figure turning into black, night-like butterflies that flitted away before turning to skeleton butterflies followed by falling away into ash that disappeared before hitting the floor.

The being was giant, for one thing, and covered in a black cloak that seemed to absorb the light around it that fell in waves to the floor, where it pooled. Yet it also looked mottled purple and green if you looked at it right. Somehow, it looked very vaguely humanoid, as Harry could see a hood and skeleton limbs beneath the folds of the cloak. In fact, to the being’s left, the cloak was ripped, a piece of the fabric-but-not-fabric ripped away. 

Harry stood, and stared.

Then the being began to talk, its voice sounding like the murmuring breeze of a summer day and the biting wind of a winter storm, the innocent speech of a child and the wise mutterings of the elderly all at once.

_ “You called upon me, Masster.” _

Harry, eyes wide, tried to form a sentence. “Are you… Death?”

_ “That iss indeed one name for me, Masster.” _

“Why do I have the Hallows? I gave them away. I don’t want them.” 

_ “And that iss precissely why you control them, Masster. You did not wish for their power. Yet you come to possesss each one. As sso, you have been chossen.” _

“But what does that mean? Why am I your “master?” 

_ “It meanss what I said. You possesss the Hallows, you have conquered me.” _

“... Does that explain why my friends react so weirdly to my touch? And the mirror? And…” His voice broke. “And Tonks and Lupin?”

Death didn’t speak for a few seconds, and Harry worried he had somehow pissed off Death. 

_ “Yess, it doess. Can you guesss why?” _

Yes, Harry thought, yes he could. “I died,” he responded. “But I did not-”

_ “But you did not go on, indeed.” _

“Why did I even have the choice? Dead people cannot choose to go back to living. Why was I any different? I don’t deserve it. My parents did. Sirius did. Fred did. So did so many others. Wh- why?”

_ “The Hallowss protected you. The otherss simply moved on. You pictured a train station; the others sall had to board. But you didn’t have the ticket.” _

Harry marveled at that, wondering if it were possible to punch Death. 

He closed his eyes to regain some composure. “So what does this mean? Is it just a title? I’d like to know why my friends think I’m freezing, and why I can see my dead self in the mirror, and those who already died.”

Death seemed to crook his head, if he had one, the cloak shimmering around it, and responded,  _ “You died.” _

As if that explained anything. 

“Can I at least, you know, not be cold? I’d rather like to enjoy still being alive.”

A sort of hissing sound came from the being.  _ “Yes, you may suppress it, but not forever.” _

Harry took a deep breath. Another question appeared on his tongue from the depths of his mind, one which he greatly feared the answer for.

His heart beat faster, the feeling of something in his stomach that was the result of his findings from the day collecting and rising out of his throat. Harry spoke hesitantly. “If I am your master… if I “conquered” you... then does that mean I can still die?”

Death was silent.

Harry’s breaths came in short, the answer to his question unspoken yet so, so terribly obvious. 

Then, disturbingly, Death reached out his hands of bone to the Hallows, grasping them before holding them out to Harry.

The boy took them, and his arms collapsed by his side. He stared at Death, picturing what its face would look like if it had one. 

_ “The dead cannot die, Masster.” _

Harry's eyes widened. Deeply alarmed, Harry sprinted past the archways and toward the bridge out of Hogwarts. He ran, and ran, and ran, before collapsing on a hill some ways out from Hogwarts. He could almost hear Hogsmeade in the distance, and he thought of the weekends spent with Ron and Hermione full of laughter and innocence. 

Tears began to form in his eyes, and Harry was somehow unsurprised to notice they too were cold. He laid there, the inevitable life ahead of him suddenly seeming impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any errors regarding the hallows or some action taken, I finished this quite hastily due to having to study for AP tests. Just correct in your mind, or comment away to fix it. (We love procrastination).  
> Pray for my AP tests y'all.  
> Leave a Kudos or comment to make my day!   
> No lie, getting comments could fuel a Patronus. It's astounding, knowing people out there like your work. 
> 
> Stay healthy! Love you precious readers!


	3. Chapter Three

Harry looked up at the imposing front of 12 Grimmauld Place. After his meltdown just outside of Hogwarts, he had quickly evaluated where he could go and decided the old Order headquarters would be safest. He knew there was a risk of being found, but he also knew that there was only one door. 

Inside, having cast several wards on the door, he inhaled the distinct scent of dust and  _ old _ that permeated the building. Now that he was no longer on the run or a moody teenager, he was able to appreciate the house for what it was. The Black family, while deeply twisted, had lived here for many generations. And the war had certainly taught him to value family.

He made his way to the drawing room, sitting on a comfortable chair in front of a table that he and Ron had used for chess before their 5th year. 

“Kreacher!” he called. A minute later, there was a  _ crack! _ And Kreacher appeared, glaring at Harry. “What does you require?” he asked angrily.

Harry looked at the elf a little shamefully. He wasn’t over Dobby’s death yet, of course he wasn’t. But Kreacher was still here, so he had to be nice. “Listen, Kreacher, I destroyed the locket Regulus had.” Kreacher’s eyes widened.

“You’s has destroyed it? How?”

“Well, actually my friend destroyed it, but we finished Regulus’ mission.” He knelt down to Kreacher’s eye level. “I understand you are still loyal to your old mistress, but Voldemort is dead now, and so the whole “blood-traitor” thing doesn't really matter anymore.” He paused. “So can we try to get along? I just need some help from you for a week or so, then you can do as you please.” 

Kreacher glared at Harry again, though this time less disdainfully. “Fine.”

Harry smiled and stood back up. “Well then, where do we start?” 

Days later, Kreacher and Harry had successfully cleaned out the living rooms, the bedrooms that the Order members had briefly used, and the library. Thankfully, the more crucial rooms such as the kitchen, dining room, and bathrooms were still mostly clean from the last few years. Harry had one night gone back to Sirius’ room, and cast preservation charms over everything. The room was colorful and a bit crude, but Sirius was his family albeit briefly, and he wanted to preserve his memory.

After that, he had hesitantly gone into Regulus’ old room. It matched the rest of the house much better, being quite neat with its deep greens and dark wood floor, but there was still evidence of being lived in. There was even still some hair on the pillows, and there were books on the desk in the corner. Harry didn’t dare touch anything, but still cast preservation charms on everything before closing the door behind him, for good. 

That night, Harry was walking to the kitchen when he heard voices. Two voices, to be exact. He peeked around the corner, and nearly collapsed at the scene in front of him. He saw his godfather and Remus sitting at the table, the chairs somehow having been pushed back for them. They each had a mug of something in their hand off of which rose swirling steam. They had somber looks on their faces.

“Sirius, you’ll see him soon.”

“You don’t really know that though, do you? I just worry. There’s no way Dumbledore would let him come back here after this year. He’ll just be stuck with the Dursleys again, and I can’t even see him because I ‘m an escaped convict! Merlin…”

Sirius rubbed at his eyes. Lupin reached an arm around his friend. “Trust me, I understand. Imagine being his professor and not being able to make jokes with him about Prongs, or show any favoritism.”

They chuckled sadly, before staying silent. After a while, they faded. The chairs on which they had just sat were still pushed out.

Harry slid to the ground against the wall, unable to stop the tears. He cried, surrounded by utter silence. 

_ Merlin,  _ he thought,  _ my whole family dead. And I’ll truly never be able to see them again.  _

At that, his body became racked with sobs as he mourned the loss of those he hadn’t been able to get to know nearly well enough.

Sirius, his dad’s best friend, who he had gotten to see less than ten times over two whole years. Then he died.

Harry wondered though, sometimes, if he was truly dead. If Sirius had gone through the Veil and come out somewhere else, confused but still alive.

Harry knew it was unlikely, but out of all the horrors he had seen, he let himself hold onto that sliver of hope. 

The days passed slowly and without much change. Harry worked on restoring the house, room by room, and sometimes he would pick a random book off the shelf and read it for a bit. Other times he would go for a walk on the street, and observe the muggles walking past who lived in the neighboring houses, marveling at how they went about their lives. He once lived without magic, and now he couldn’t imagine losing it, but he sometimes envied the anonymity one found in the muggle world. 

Harry got letters, sometimes. Some were from Ron and Hermione, but mostly fan mail. He always collected that stuff and stored it, but never read it. He couldn’t bring himself to be proud, it was because of him that so many had died. Clearly, others disagreed, as he now had two drawers in the kitchen stuffed full with fan mail and thank-you letters of all sorts. 

One day, Harry decided that instead of watching the muggles semi-enviously, he would do what he could to fit in a bit. 

As such, he found himself at a store trying to get a tv. He had previously cleared out a smaller room that might have once been a study and replaced it with a large sofa from another room and a table on which he would put said tv. He had done his best to de-magic the room, even installing some other muggle contraptions. Two hours later, he was sitting on the sofa watching the latest episode of Friends, a “sit-com”. He had forgotten the joy he got from tv, even though when he was a kid it mostly meant listening to it from the other side of the cupboard door. 

Harry got used to living alone quite easily. 

The house was always quiet, and no one complained when he didn’t mop up the floor after spilling water, or left a light on in another room.

The thought of his friends and what they were doing remained in the back of his mind, but Harry knew they were okay. After all, Ron and Hermion had each other now. He thought it best to give them some space before he continued ruining their lives.

Though hopefully that wouldn’t happen quite so much since Lord No Nose was officially gone. 

Harry should’ve known the peace wouldn’t last.

One day, he got a copy of The Daily Prophet attached to a card from Hermione. It said little, but it did say

_ Harry, I think you should read this. I know you don’t subscribe to the paper, but please, read this. _

_ Love, Hermione. _

_ P.S. Are you okay? You haven’t responded to anything. We’ll always be okay with you stopping by. _

_ Hey- Ron here- we’ve missed you mate. You should really come back soon. Seems that git finally gets his dues. _

Curiosity spiked, Harry held up the paper. 

**_The Malfoy Trials: Azkaban or Kiss?_ **

The article discussed how the Malfoys were to be put on trial later that week, Thursday to be exact. 

Harry let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. The Malfoys, on trial. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but still, the reminder shocked him. 

He remembered what the Malfoys had done very well. Narcissa had risked her life for his, and Draco……

Well they never get along. Harry would be lying if he said he had never entertained the idea of what might have happened if he had taken his hand the August he found out about the wizarding world. Would he have been in Slytherin? Would he have defeated Voldemort the same way? Would the same people have died?

Draco was difficult, to say the least. He loved attention and getting others in trouble for fun, but still, what had he really done? He had been tasked with killing Dumbledore, and he only got as far as he had because he wanted to protect his family. Doesn't mean he wasn't still a pointless annoyance, but he wasn't _cruel_. And he was hardly an eyesore, unlike so many of the Death Eaters and Snatchers Harry had the misfortune of encountering at one point or another.

Harry didn’t blame him, honestly. Malfoy had been scared for so many years of his life, and he just wanted to live. 

The last time he saw them was when they were running from the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry absently wondered what they had been up to since that terrible day. 

Harry shuddered at the reminder of the Manor, but he stood up and walked back inside, resolute, with a goal in mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Good? Bad? Okay timing and descriptions? Let me know, down below.
> 
> Stay healthy precious readers! I love you all!


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